


Fallout

by flamethrower



Series: Re-Entry: Journey of the Whills [18]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, F/M, GFY, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-07
Updated: 2014-02-07
Packaged: 2018-01-11 11:22:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1172453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flamethrower/pseuds/flamethrower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"This is where I leave you, for now, though not for any ominous reason."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fallout

**Author's Note:**

> Beta credit to MerryAmelie, C, and Lauranna

Republic Date 5201: 2/19th

Jedi Temple, Coruscant

 

“What’s going on?” Adi Gallia asked, when Mace came to her quarters just after she had gotten dressed for the day.  He looked like he had already been awake for several hours, which put her on further alert that something had happened.

“Come with me,” Mace said, and Adi, curiosity even further roused, followed after slipping on her boots and pulling on her robe.  “We may have a situation.”

“What sort of situation?”

Mace looked at her out of the corner of his eye as he walked.  “Master Yoda tells me that Obi-Wan is...exceptionally pissed off.”

Adi had a moment’s confusion before Mace’s deliberate wording struck a chord of memory.  “Oh,” she said, eyes widening in shock.  She glanced around, relieved to find themselves alone in the corridor at this hour of morning.  “Qui-Gon?”

“Micah, Tahl, and Master Yoda all say that he’s fine,” Mace reassured her.  “Yoda and I were in the middle of discussing what to do when Obi-Wan transmitted a request for a meeting.  He asked for the full Reconciliation Council, you, and Micah.”

“That sounds promising,” Adi said, feeling a cautious bit of relief.

“So far,” Mace agreed, though he still looked deeply troubled.  “We need to know what’s going on before we can judge the situation, but...”  He paused.  “You know that Obi-Wan’s bond with young Jeila Vin is already very strong.”

Adi followed him into the turbolift.  “Is she all right?”

“Surprisingly, yes,” Mace said.  “Master Yoda informed me that she said something very sensible, something that we all may have overlooked in our zeal against the Sith.”

When he told her what the young girl had said, Adi felt something very much like hope blossom in her heart.  “Let’s go find out if she’s correct, then.”

The Reconciliation Council had already gathered, along with Micah Giett.  Boda MonMassa was seated, staring at the powered-down holographic display with an unreadable expression.  Master Yoda was sitting beside her, fiddling with his gimer stick, his ears twitching at every word spoken.  He looked concerned, but not distressed.

Saesee Tiin, Plo Koon, and Master Yaddle were moving to stand in a cluster around the three chairs in front of the emitter—Adi realized that they were going to arrange their group to be certain that the entire room’s occupants could be seen by whoever watched the broadcast.

“Intimidation tactics already?” Adi murmured.

Mace gave an almost imperceptible nod of his head, his voice just as quiet as he answered her.  “Given the situation?  I do not think such a response is out of place.”

Adi had to admit that he was right.  Also, Obi-Wan had asked for them all.  Perhaps he would find it reassuring to see that his request had been granted. 

“Micah, take my seat,” Mace directed.

“Force bless you,” Micah said.  He lowered himself into the chair next to Yoda with a barely restrained sigh as Adi and Mace joined the cluster around the three chairs. 

“Are we ready?” MonMassa asked, raising her chin and allowing her full authority as the Master of Shadows to settle on her features. 

“Let us hope so,” Plo Koon said, accompanied by general murmurs of assent. 

“Then we will begin,” MonMassa said, nodding at Yoda.  Yoda’s right ear dipped, and his clawed hand used the chair’s built-in control panel to power on the emitter.

The holographic field rose up, a solid line of blue that spread out and resolved into an image of Obi-Wan, standing alone with his hands resting behind his back.  No cloak, no lightsaber, Adi noted—possibly a bit worse for wear, given the hint of stubble on his face and the unkempt state of his hair and tunics.

It didn’t matter that the holographic transmission was a monochromatic blue.  Adi could see the shine of his eyes.  The preternatural rage of a Sith branded his face.

“By the Force,” Yaddle whispered.

They were dealing with the one that Sidious had named Venge.  Some of Adi’s earlier confidence dried up like dust. 

Venge regarded them, unblinking, as he quietly studied each of their faces in turn.  When he looked at Adi, she held her breath, filled with sudden trepidation.  There was an intensity to his gaze that was like nothing she had ever experienced.  Then Venge turned to face someone outside of the equipment’s pickup range.

“Anakin, please come here and inform the Reconciliation Council that all relevant parties are alive and in one piece,” Venge said.

Anakin Skywalker darted into the emitter’s range.  “Hello, Masters.  Uh—yeah, everyone’s still alive.  Well, actually, a lot of people are dead, but they were all assholes.”

Venge looked down at Anakin, raising a single, inquiring eyebrow.

“What?” Anakin returned.  “It’s the Reconciliation Council.  _Again._   I’m nervous!”

“Perhaps the pair of you might be willing to explain just what, exactly, has gone on in the last twelve hours,” MonMassa requested in a glacial tone.

Anakin glanced up at Venge, who nodded in response to an unvoiced question.  “Jenna Zan Arbor is responsible for the current difficulties, as had been previously surmised.”  Venge gave them a succinct summary of events since their departure from the _Noble Venture_.  Adi was glad to hear of Rillian, Qui-Gon, Vos, and Aayla’s continued good health, but less encouraged by the news that the small group might be sitting in the middle of a biological epidemic.

“Commander Pilar shuttled off her three Duros crew,” Anakin said, picking up the narrative.  “She’s sent down a single team in biohazard gear to deal with the bodies, and to decide if we’re about to have an outbreak.  In the meantime, we’re under quarantine until the bio team confirms it’s safe, or for the next two days, whichever comes first.”

Master Yoda nodded.  “And Zan Arbor?  A purpose she had in all of this, yes?”

Micah snorted.  “You mean aside from revenge?”

“She was also commissioned by Darth Sidious to recreate as many of the ancient Sith toxins as she could feasibly manage,” Venge told them.  “She is the ultimate source of Master Fareesi’s current difficulties.”

“Damn,” Micah muttered, while Adi felt the sharp notes of displeasure/unease that the others broadcasted.  “I take it that’s also what happened to you?”

“Not the same toxin, but yes,” Venge answered.  “I know that this is not a pleasing outcome, but it was the lesser evil of two very unfortunate choices.”

“What could be worse than willingly embracing Sidious’s teachings?” Saesee Tiin asked, incredulous.

Venge was quiet for a minute, as if searching for the words to explain.  “What Zan Arbor injected me with was once known as A Drop of Fire.  It was as much a toxin as it was a political tool, a device that the old Sith Lords would use on each other when they wished to stack the odds in their favor.  If your opponent is dealing with a severe case of insanity, it can be easier to defeat them.”

“I would think the Sith are insane by nature,” Plo Koon said.

Venge frowned.  “Do not mistake the beliefs of the Sith for insanity.  There is much about both philosophies that conflict merely because of the differing points of view.  I am not currently insane.  Just very, very…upset.”

“Upset?” Mace repeated in polite disbelief.

“Enraged,” Venge conceded, his eyes flashing.  “That is what Fire does.  It creates rage, unending fury.  Incorporating that reaction, embracing it?  That is the only means by which the response can still be controlled—it is the _only_ way to avoid the worst of Fire’s effects.  Letting Fire burn without any attempt to integrate it leads to complete and utter madness.  The toxin overpowers the mind, overwrites logic, and obliterates reason.”

“I can see why you would find the Venge persona to be a more welcome option,” MonMassa cautiously admitted.  “I have never heard of this toxin.”

“Few have.  I will give you a more recent historical example of its use,” Venge said.  “The last time Fire was given to a Jedi, the galaxy went to war, and even the stars were casualties.  The young Knight was ignorant of Fire’s treacherous nature, and thus succumbed to its poison.

“Ulic Qel-Droma was that Jedi.”

“But wait,” Master Yaddle said, her small face furrowing into a frown.  “Qel-Droma chose to join Exar Kun.”

“Crèche tales,” Venge retorted disparagingly.  “Qel-Droma might have infiltrated the Cult of the Krath with the seeds of vengeance in his heart, but that was not enough to make him forsake the Jedi path.  The Krath were not going to wait for the Jedi to have a true change of heart.  They fed him A Drop of Fire, and Qel-Droma fought its effects with all of his considerable strength in the Force.”

“As one should always fight the temptations of the Dark Side,” Plo Koon murmured.

“Most of the time, that is true,” Venge said, “but Fire is like Shillanis.  It was designed to be what it is.  Qel-Droma fought against Fire’s effects for a long time.  When it finally eroded the last of his defenses, Qel-Droma could no longer tell friend from foe, or even remember why he should.  He would not even have cared to ally himself with Exar Kun, but the losers of the first Great War wanted to start the conflict anew.  Kun and Qel-Droma both were manipulated by a bunch of interfering, long-dead Sith.”

Adi was fascinated by the tale she was hearing, and knew that she was not the only one.  For those who had participated in Obi-Wan’s Sharing, it shed new light on the scattered hints they had been offered about the ancient Jedi, and the role he was possibly playing in current events.

“That information isn’t part of the story,” Yaddle said.

“Of course it isn’t,” Venge replied.  “Ulic Qel-Droma’s story is used as a teaching tale about the folly of seeking vengeance.  It would not have the same impact if you told a student that Qel-Droma’s Fall was not entirely of his own making.”

“And what about _your_ Fall?” Mace asked.  Adi gave him a sidelong look for the blunt nature of the question.

“There is a difference between a choice and a sacrifice, Master Windu,” Venge snapped.  Adi was alarmed to see that there really was a faint glow to his eyes, one that increased as his temper flared.  “I am Lifebonded to a man who is pained by my very presence.  His talents in the Living Force make it impossible for it to be otherwise.  So no, I do not have an interest in remaining like this once Fire’s effects are extinguished.”

“How long will this toxin’s effects last?” MonMassa wanted to know.

Venge’s jaw worked as he visibly struggled to regain control.  “I do not know,” he bit out.  “It is like Shillanis in that there is no cure once you are exposed.  Unlike Shillanis, you cannot burn it out of your system.  It hides in the blood, lurks inside the brain, doing its work.  The only antidote is time.  It must wear off.”

 _Damn,_ Adi thought, her heart aching for her friend.  Despite the concerns of the other Masters, she could tell that Obi-Wan was not pleased with his predicament.  Adi would fear to find herself in similar circumstances.  “How long does it take to wear off?”

“That…is the first difficulty,” Venge said.  “That information has been lost to history.  Until Zan Arbor’s recreation, Fire had been extinct for three thousand years.”

“What’s the second difficulty, then?” Mace asked.

Venge seemed to sigh.  “She gave me enough for twenty people.”

 _Oh.  Sweet, blessed gods,_ Adi thought in stunned horror.  She unconsciously reached out for Mace’s hand, gratified when he wove their fingers together.

“Ah, lad,” MonMassa sighed.  “I am sorry.”

“It _will_ wear off,” Venge insisted, and stared hard at the Master of Shadows.  “In the meantime, it is a situation we should take full advantage of.  We’re never going to have a better opportunity than this.”

MonMassa raised an eyebrow.  “This is more of a risk than we had originally conceived of.  Can you resist the urge to strangle the lot of them?”

Venge looked bored, and his tone was likewise when he answered.  “Well, Vos has already tried to stab me, and I didn’t kill _him._ ”

MonMassa chuckled.  “I’m convinced.”  Adi was surprised by her easy capitulation, but then, she and Obi-Wan had done a lot of planning together.  There was a chance that this was only a few steps worse than the trials the two had already conceived of for the selected Shadows. 

“Do you still want Vos as part of the group?”

While Venge replied in the affirmative, Adi turned her head to stare at Mace.  _Vos is a Shadow?_ she mouthed in surprise.  Mace nodded.

“I’ll make the arrangements at the conclusion of this meeting,” MonMassa said.  “I will forward you the details when I have them.”

“Wait.  Are we actually—are we going to go through with this?” Saesee Tiin asked, looking pensive.  “I will grant you that, on your own, you seem to be…stable,” Saesee said to Venge, who looked faintly amused.  “But the venture that you and the Master of Shadows speak of will put an important resource of the Order into your direct control.  I have concerns about what may result.”

“I want Sidious dead.  The Shadows are tasked with Sidious’s defeat.  I am _not_ going to sabotage one of our best means of hunting him.”

“I am curious as to why you have not gone to find him, yourself,” Plo Koon said.  “Would this Fire not give you the means to challenge him directly?”

“Oh, hell no!” Anakin exclaimed, at the same time that Venge said, “That is a _terrible_ idea.”

“Just thought I would mention it,” Plo Koon replied, sounding gratified.

“Not all Sith wanted war, Master Tiin,” Venge continued.  Yoda was watching him in silent contemplation.  “If conflict was the only thing the old Sith had desired, the galaxy would never have known a moment’s peace.”

“But now, it is him, and you,” Yaddle pointed out.

Venge frowned.  “The difference between myself and Sidious is that I am your ally.  Sidious has never had an ally that he did not also consider disposable.”

Master Tiin nodded.  “Fair enough.”

 _Obi loves us,_ Adi thought, quoting little Jeila, and had to hide a smile that would have been inappropriate.

“So, can we get to the point that’s going to be even more upsetting than this?” Anakin spoke up. 

“More upsetting?” Plo Koon echoed.  “What in the galaxy could possibly supersede this?”

“It is about Zan Arbor,” Venge said, and then informed the Reconciliation Council of the deal he had made with her.

Adi swore, loud and with feeling.

Mace pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers.  “What in the hell possessed you to grant her that kind of bargain?”

“Besides the obvious?” Venge said, with a trace of Obi-Wan’s sense of humor.  “We need her, Master Windu.  Replicating Shillanis will be a useful training tool, but we may require more than that.  I want Zan Arbor to create an inoculation against Shillanis.”

That was something Adi had not yet considered.  “Do you think she could do it?”

“Well, she managed Fire, and half of its traditional ingredients no longer exist,” Venge replied.  “I do believe she may be one of the few beings in the galaxy who could succeed.”

“Why?” Yaddle asked. 

“Because Sidious tried to ensure her death,” Venge answered.  “That means Sidious did not want her skills being used against him.  I will also admit to some vested self-interest.  I would not say no to a cure for Fire.”

“That does sound opportunistic of you,” MonMassa said dryly.  “You would be so willing to give this up?”

“We are all aware that a few moments of anger can be tiring.  Imagine when it is a rage that never stops,” Venge said in a soft voice.

Adi and the other gathered Masters exchanged concerned glances.  There were a lot of implications in that statement, and none were good.  “Are you going to be all right, Obi-Wan?” Adi asked.

Venge looked down at his Padawan, who stared back up at him with a worried expression of his own.   “I have to be,” he said.

“Right,” Adi said, when nobody else seemed inclined to speak.  “As Master MonMassa has said, you will hear from us again when all is arranged.  May the Force be with you.”

Venge and Anakin both bowed, though for Venge it was less a bow and more an angry, puzzled nod of acknowledgement.  Yoda shut down the transmission, and then huffed out an annoyed breath to break up the tense silence that followed.

“I am using the full strength of my title, Master Windu,” MonMassa began.  “I am calling in the Corellian Vastra twins.  They have worked with Kenobi before, and I believe that keeping a pair of Soul Healers on hand for the other Shadows will not be amiss.”

“Agreed,” Mace replied in a heavy voice.  “A pair of physical Healers should accompany them.”

“One had best be Healer Abella,” Adi suggested.  “If I understood him correctly, she will be needed, and Abella is already well-acquainted with Obi-Wan’s temper.”

“Then it will be Healer Zarin Har accompanying her.  He has done Shadow work in the past, and will be well-versed in the fits of temper that _my_ people get up to,” MonMassa said.

“What are you thinking about, my friend?” Plo Koon asked Mace.

Mace looked at Adi before addressing the Reconciliation Council as a whole.  “I was thinking about Xanatos.  I was remembering how we did everything that we were supposed to do.  We followed the Code.  We declared him rogue, Fallen, and refused to have anything further to do with him that did not revolve around the kill order attached to his name.

“Maybe, if we had done things the wrong way, if just one of us had reached out to Xan…then maybe he would not have been such easy prey for Sidious,” he finished quietly.

“Perhaps, but we cannot second guess the past,” Saesee Tiin said.  “In the meantime, I fear the rest of the High Council will not be pleased when they learn what plans we have made.”

“Worried about that, I am,” Yaddle murmured.  “Those Jedi are our allies and our brethren, but call for Obi-Wan’s immediate execution, some of them will.”

“Let them call for it all they like,” MonMassa retorted in an angry voice.  “ _I_ am the head of the Reconciliation Council, and thus I have final say as to Obi-Wan Kenobi’s fate.  I am not going to declare him rogue until his actions warrant it.  Would anyone in this room naysay me?”

“None of us would, Boda,” Saesee Tiin reassured her.  “I may not be fond of the idea, but I think the chances of a good outcome from this are currently greater than a negative one.”

“And the High Council can’t override the Reconciliation Council’s decree without a majority vote,” Micah said, and then looked worried.  “I’ve been out of the loop too long.  Could they gain that majority, Mace?”

“No,” Mace said, but his brow was furrowed.  “Not yet.”

“All it would take is one very convincing argument,” Adi said, resisting the urge to shiver when a cold chill raced down her spine.  “We are five members versus their remaining six.”

“Shit,” Micah said, eyes widening slightly in realization.  “Has Obi-Wan even named a stand-by, yet?”

Adi shook her head.  “Not that he has mentioned to us.  Padawan Eerin might know.” 

“Well, then,” Plo Koon said.  “That could turn the tide in Kenobi’s favor, if it were the right sort of person.”

“Or at least keep anyone from gaining a majority that will push through foolish, fearful decisions,” Yaddle agreed.

There was another long moment of silence, before Yoda spoke.  “A test for all of us, this will be.”

 

*          *          *          *

 

“Sooooo, I notice that you didn’t mention any of us helping out with this Shadow venture,” Anakin said, the moment the emitter powered down.  Rillian and Aayla were napping in the pre-fab with Master Qui-Gon, and Vos was stalking around the complex like more bad guys were going to erupt from the stone.  To be fair, he’d already found two spare mercenaries.  Anakin wasn’t going to complain much about Vos’s paranoia.  It did mean, however, that he was on his own for making sure his Master didn’t do anything foolish.

“That is because none of you are going,” Venge said, as if to prove Anakin’s point.

“You can’t do this alone,” Anakin protested.  “We should be there!”

Venge shook his head.  “No.  Not for this.  What I said of your other Master is true, and you and Rillian have your own lessons to learn.  I have to teach these Shadows what they may be called to do in the coming war against Sidious.  This is the way it must be.”

Anakin stared up at him.  Maybe it wasn’t entirely his doing, if the talk about his Lifebond severance was true, but Venge’s existence was Anakin’s fault, too.  “Because it’s your duty, right?” he asked, bitter.

“Sometimes, it is preferable to set your duties aside—sometimes, it is even the right thing to do,” Venge said, to Anakin’s surprise.  “This is not one of those times, Anakin.  You are not ready for what these Shadows will face.”

“What do you mean?” Anakin asked, momentarily baffled.  “I mean, I’ve kinda done what they’re going to do.  Why should it be any different this time?”

“These Jedi will learn of matters that they never wished to become educated in.  You may be passingly familiar with these concepts, but it is Vader who knows them, and you are not yet even comfortable with the idea of viewing his memories.”

Anakin bit off the protest that wanted to form.  “I really hate that you’re right.”

“Besides, I do not think that _either_ of us is ready for Vader to speak with me,” Venge said, without a hint of amusement.

“No way,” Anakin agreed.  “Vader is _scared_ of Venge.”  It wasn’t something Anakin had previously considered, but he knew it with absolute certainty.

Venge tilted his head, gazing down at Anakin, who was totally starting to understand Master Qui-Gon’s feral cat metaphors.  “Why?”

Anakin thought about it.  The first thing that flashed to mind was Obi-Wan, slumped against a black, shining wall, looking up at Sidious ( _and Vader_ , his consciousness hissed) with eyes ringed dark violet by bruising and sleepless nights.  The expression on his face was chilling—it was pure, burning defiance, illuminated by a manic smile.

“Because,” Anakin said.  “You looked Sidious in the face when he was at his most evil, and you _laughed_ at him.”

There was a hint of a smile on Venge’s face.  “That is what one does when confronted with those such as he.”

“No, it’s not,” Anakin retorted, disbelieving.  “When confronted with terrifying Darkness, what one _does_ is to fucking run!”

Venge gave him a flat, level stare.  “And that, Anakin Skywalker, is your entire problem.”

Anakin shook his head.  “No way.  We are not gonna make this about me right now.”

“Oh, yes,” Venge countered.  “I think we should.  Let us make it all about you, Anakin Skywalker.  You desire to run; you ran so far away from yourself that you let a psychotic fragment of your psyche rule your life for two decades.” 

“That isn’t fair,” Anakin whispered.

Venge frowned.  “Fair?  You grew up with the intimate understanding that _there is no such thing._   When did you forget that, I wonder?  Was it when you slaughtered an entire village while wearing the braid of a Jedi?”

“No—I don’t know,” Anakin said, knowing he was foundering and the argument was pretty much lost.  “Master—”

Venge kept speaking, relentless.  “And then, when they were dead, what did you do?  You ignored your actions.  You put it all aside.  You blinded yourself to your own Darkness, and when the time came, it reared up and swallowed you whole.  Tell me:  Do you consider those actions to be brave, or cowardly?”

“Stop it!”  Anakin curled his hands into fists.  “I don’t want to—”

“You don’t want to deal with these truths, to the extent that you cannot even answer my question.  I do not think that Sidious had to push very hard to create Vader.”

“STOP IT!” The words poured forth, accompanied by a roar of Force-created wind.  The gale struck Venge hard enough to rock him back on his feet, and left dancing sparks of static electricity in its wake. 

Venge breathed it all in, and then brushed off the last flecks of popping light.  “You see?  You have still not mastered your temper; it is only that no one has bothered to prod you into learning it,” he said.  He no longer sounded derogatory, only stating simple fact.

Anakin was devastated.  He felt like all of the progress he had made was _nothing_.  “You—you’re not being—”

“Nice?”  Venge smiled, but there was nothing kind in it.  “I am not nice.”  The smile vanished, and his eyes filled with rage, enough that Anakin took a startled step backwards.  “I watched you kneel at that bastard’s feet like a collared, broken animal.  I will not stand by and watch you walk the same path due to your unwillingness to confront your own decisions.  I _refuse_ to see that happen again!”

“So, what, you want to see me kneeling at your feet instead?” Anakin shot back, feeling sick and empty.

Venge stared at him.  “No.  I want you kneeling before those you honor and cherish.  You should never drop to your knees before those that you hate and fear.  It is a gesture that they do not deserve.” 

Venge took a step forward and then knelt in front of Anakin.  “Like so.”

“I—I—” Anakin stuttered, feeling lost.  That was the last thing he had expected from the Sith.

“My brother.”  Venge’s tone was formal, but there was something approaching warmth buried within it.  “What is it that you want most in life?”

Anakin struggled to regain control of his careening emotions.  “To be happy,” he said at last.  It was an honest answer, and about as specific as he could manage just then.

“You will never be happy if you run,” Venge said quietly.

“What about you, then?” Anakin asked.  “Obi-Wan’s been refusing to deal with you for ages now, and it’s like you said—since he didn’t, you’re not quite him.  Right?  So how can you be happy?”

Venge lowered his head, as if grieved.  “Your Master is happy, and he is terrified.  Does that answer your question?”

Anakin’s anger drained away.  “Terrified of what?”

“Of being the martyr that Odan-Urr has named him,” Venge said.  “He is so afraid of this that he has not even discussed the things he has learned of with any of you.”

Well, that didn’t sound good.  “But _you’re_ telling me,” Anakin said.  “Well…sort of.”

Venge looked up, his expression managing to convey a shrug perfectly, for all that his shoulders did not move.  “I am…closer…to the things that your Master does not wish to repeat.  I am all tied up in his desire to never again see and feel the losses he has already once suffered.  In that sense, I will _always_ exist.”

“But then that means there’s no use.  Vader will always exist, too,” Anakin said in dismay, but Venge was already shaking his head.

“No.  You might never have come to your full potential because of the choices that you made, but Vader exists specifically because Sidious created him.”

Anakin frowned.  “But you said—”

“I was making a point,” Venge explained, which didn’t make Anakin feel much better.  “Vader is nothing more than a fragment, composed of the darker parts of your psyche—anger, misery, and bitter grief.  Those are things you would have come to terms with, eventually.  I do not believe you would have ever chosen complete Darkness on your own, because you, Anakin Skywalker, are capable of feeling regret.”

“You really think so?” Anakin asked, his spirits lifting a bit.

“Refusing to deal with the consequences of your actions is bad, but it is not quite Sith material,” Venge said dryly.  “Sidious only resorted to breaking your mind when he could not bring you to heel in any other way.”

Anakin blinked at him, startled.  “Is that what Sidious thinks this will do to you?  Bring you to heel?”

“If he believes that, then he is sorely mistaken.”  Venge gave him a searching look.  “I promised you an apprenticeship and a Knighthood.  I am keeping my word.”

Anakin nodded.  “I believe you,” he said, and held out his arm.

Venge looked at Anakin’s hand like Anakin had just tried to prod him with a stick.  Then, slowly, he reached out, clasping their hands together.  “This feels familiar,” he murmured.  “Have we done this before?”

“Yeah,” Anakin said, feeling tears sting his eyes.  “Been a while, though.”  He still clearly remembered when Qui-Gon Jinn’s adult apprentice had taken the time to shake a young slave’s hand, and give Anakin a warm, genuine smile.

 

*          *          *          *

 

“Can you not sleep?”

Rillian turned her head to see Master Obi-Wan—Venge, she reminded herself—approaching.  He moved without disturbing the stones, and if it had not been for his scent, carried on the air, Venge could have come within striking distance before Rillian would have noticed.  This only bothered her a little; Master Obi-Wan had always been very good at being sneaky.

[No,] Rillian said.  [I didn’t realize how much Master snores.]

There was something akin to a smile on his face.  “Sometimes more than others,” Venge said.

[You’re not sleeping, either,] Rillian decided to point out, instead of dwelling on her Master’s capture and ill-treatment.  It had left her second-and-third-guessing her actions on Tholatin, wondering if she bore any responsibility for what had happened to him.

Venge dipped his head in acknowledgement.  “No, I am not.  May I join you?”

Rillian, curiosity pinged by the polite request, scooted over to make room on the big rock she was sitting on.  [Yes, please.]

He sat down next to her, their bodies close but not touching.  Rillian could feel a static-like charge coming from him, one strong enough that her fur wanted to stand on end.  It was a strange sensation, but she wasn’t frightened.  When she had hugged him earlier, her fur _had_ stood at attention.  It had been like standing in an electrical field—odd, but not unpleasant.

[The stars are nice here,] Rillian said, when Venge seemed disinclined to speak.

He looked up, his eyes flickering along the details of RF-228’s night sky.  “They are.”

Rillian resisted the urge to squirm in place, not used to feeling awkward around her other Master.  [Where’s Anakin?]

“Meditating,” Venge answered.  “We had a conversation not long ago, and things were said that he needs to think about.”

[Bad things?]

“Hard things,” Venge corrected.  “Though they can often be one in the same.”

[Oh.]  Rillian gave him a curious look.  [Are we going to talk about hard things?]

“In a sense,” he said, and held out a folded slip of flimsiplast.  “For you.”

Rillian took the ’plast sheet, unfolding it with a wuff of interest.  Written in a slightly more cramped version of Master Obi-Wan’s handwriting were five lines of text.

 

_Emotion, yet peace._

_Ignorance, yet knowledge._

_Passion, yet serenity._

_Chaos, yet harmony._

_Death, yet the Force._

 

Rillian read it several times, her confusion growing with each repetition.  [I don’t understand.  What is this?]

“That, dear Raallandirr, is the oldest known version of the Jedi Code,” Venge told her.

Rillian read it through again.  [But it’s—it’s the opposite of our Code!] she barked.  [That makes no sense!  Where did you find this?]

“This was the result of one of my forays in the library, quizzing Odan-Urr’s holocron as to Ood Bnar’s possible location.  You are holding something in your hands that has been lost to history.  I do not believe that even Master Yoda is aware of this Code’s existence.”

Rillian was baffled.  [Why give this to me?]

Venge studied her with a strange look on his face.  “You are among the first of our students that will be raised to think differently about dogma that the Order has practiced for the past thousand years.  The exploration of this old Code, the meditations upon its meaning, upon the disparity between it and the Code we know—all of this should start with you.”

Rillian stared at him, stunned by the sheer amount of responsibility he had just placed upon her shoulders.  [I—I don’t…is it a secret?]

“No.”  Venge shook his head.  “Nor should it be.  Share it with whomever you feel should see it, but be cautious.  Even if Odan-Urr were to return from the dead and tell them of its authenticity, there are some Jedi who will refuse to admit to the validity of what you hold in your hands.”

[But why not?]

“Fear,” Venge said.  “And any Sith will tell you that fear is a powerful thing.”

Rillian nodded, and then pointed to the fourth line.  [Chaos, yet harmony.  There is no reference to this in our version of the Code.  Why is it missing?]

“I don’t know,” he replied, and glanced up at the stars again.  “I suspect I will be thinking about that line often in the coming weeks.”

Rillian looked at the ’plast and then at him.  [Oh,] she breathed.  [That would change _everything._ ]

“It might,” Venge agreed.  “And that is why you must be cautious.”

[What about Master Qui-Gon?]  Rillian carefully refolded the flimsiplast sheet.

“I suspect your Master will find this version of the Code to be a revelation,” Venge said.  “Now, then:  There are plans afoot that you need to be aware of, and I have a task for you.”

Rillian sat up straight and lifted her chin.  [I am listening, Master.]

 

*          *          *          *

 

He was holding a conversation with the _Helian Var’s_ captain, a surly humanoid blend named Mako, when the ship shuddered and dropped out of hyperspace.  The sudden deceleration threw them both bodily against the corridor wall.

“Go!” Qui-Gon yelled, when Mako’s co-pilot shrieked through the comm that they had incoming.

“I blame you!  This is the last time I ferry Jedi,” Mako spat in response, and bolted down the corridor, with Qui-Gon a few steps behind him.

Mako crossed into the bridge just as the ship rocked; Qui-Gon managed two more strides before the bulkhead door slammed shut in his face.  He felt all of their deaths, the bridge crew gone in an instant as the transparisteel in the cockpit blew out.

“Damn!”  Qui-Gon turned back the other way.  The decking vibrated under his feet, echoed by a thud against the hull in the corridor.  A shower of sparks gutted out from the wall.

 _No,_ he thought, and then:  _Hibernate, do it_ now _, or you are dead_ —

Except that he got the timing wrong.  He was on the intake of breath when the hull ruptured.  The air was ripped from his lungs like a great fist had ripped a hollow in his chest, and there was blood, so much, he couldn’t breathe—

Qui-Gon woke up with his lungs seizing, trying desperately to get air.  There was nothing to see but complete darkness.

“Shhh,” a quiet voice said, and there were warm hands brushing his hair, stroking his face.  The touch reminded Qui-Gon of where he was; he recognized the hard ridges of the bunk under his body, smelled the particular odor of pre-fab construction.  

Qui-Gon calmed enough that his lungs allowed him a breath, and then another, and gradually his pounding heart began to ease.  He was being held, cradled, which was doing much to help his waking panic.  His head was resting on his mate’s chest, the echo of a steady heartbeat resounding in his ears.  “Obi-Wan?”

“Hm.  Close enough,” Venge said, his fingertips running through Qui-Gon’s hair again.

Qui-Gon released a long, shuddering sigh, dispelling the last of the nightmare’s tension with it.  “Thank you.”

“You were dreaming of the _Helian Var._ ”

“Yes.  Dreaming that I’d gotten it wrong,” Qui-Gon said.

Venge’s arms tightened around Qui-Gon’s body.  “You did not.”

“But I could have.  It was very, very close.”

“Unless you want me to keep you under lock and key, you will cease reminding me that I could lose you at any moment,” Venge growled.  Qui-Gon could feel his anger then, but it was nothing more than a quick, hot rush before the feeling was wrapped and hidden from his senses.

“How long can you shield that way?” he asked, curious.

“Not long.”  Venge shifted beneath him.  “You choose the worst bunks.”

A sore topic, then.  “This was the least bad of the four,” Qui-Gon said.

Venge made a sound that was very close to a soft laugh.  “That explains why the Padawans do not want to sleep in them.  I found Anakin resting on the floor.”

Qui-Gon was not surprised.  The floor didn’t sound half-bad, actually.  “Rillian?”

“Intermittent napping.  She likes the stars here.”

“What do you think of them?” Qui-Gon asked.

There was a long pause.  “Go back to sleep.”

“That isn’t an answer,” Qui-Gon objected, even though his eyelids were growing heavy.  Not even a nightmare was enough to keep his exhaustion at bay for long, now that he’d allowed himself the chance to rest.

“They were stars,” Venge said.  “They remind me of many things, and not all of them are good.  Sleep, or I will make you sleep.”

“All right,” Qui-Gon conceded, and relaxed against Venge’s warm body.  “You’ll stay?”

“For a little while.”

Qui-Gon closed his eyes.  He was not reassured by that answer, either, but fell asleep too quickly to think anything more about it.

 

*          *          *          *

 

Venge waited in stillness as streaks of sunlight broke RF-228’s horizon.  Fire raged in his system, despite his best efforts to circumvent its effects.  He would burn it out, a burst of power that manipulated and changed things around him.  There would be cold, brittle calm, letting him think and plan and _remember_.  Then the rage returned, and with it, the urge to rend and destroy, just like Sidious wanted.

It was Sidious’s desires that were helping to restrain him, loath as Venge was to admit it.  Anything that made the other Sith happy was not to be tolerated.

He was aware when Quinlan Vos and Padawan Secura found the remaining female Duros that Jenna had employed.  A willing accomplice, too, given the short battle that she promptly gave the Jedi pair.  Venge felt it when the Duros breathed her last, spiteful and bitter, but still not regretting the chosen sacrifice of her husband. 

Anakin and Rillian’s bright points were easy to find.  They were taking note of what buildings were left to search for his and Qui-Gon’s missing lightsabers.  Venge knew exactly where the blades were stored; he could sense them.  However, this sort of seek-and-find was good practice for the Padawans, and he would let them discover the blades’ location on their own.

Qui-Gon was still asleep, but restless, affected by the energy that Venge could not help but exude.  Venge could hide himself, and still it would not matter.  The rage he was capable of generating would alter the current of the Force, regardless, and it was that sort of energy to which his mate was particularly susceptible.

The dampening effects created by the planet’s stone barely affected him now, not since he’d pulled Jenna’s ship from the sky.  He could feel the whole of Zan Arbor’s complex, the wilds beyond—even the crewmembers of the _Venture,_ far overhead.  He had been able to do this before, of course, but it had been something he had needed to think about, or a certain point in his meditations had been required. 

Not now. 

This level of awareness should have been terrifying.

It was _exhilarating._

 

*          *          *          *

 

“We are considering the area to be clean,” Jonsshek said, his tongue darting out once after he spoke.  “There is no sign of a biological virus or otherwise transferable contaminant.  Testing confirms that it is a poison that felled the Duros.”

“Well, thank fuck for small favors,” Quinlan replied.  “Got anything else for us?” he asked, as Venge and Anakin approached.  Rillian was just behind them, her curious gaze focused on the Yinchorri medical officer from the _Venture._

Jonsshek swished his tail.  “The _Venture_ will be landing within the hour, so that we will not need to shuttle our investigation crews back and forth.”

“Well, I’m glad that Aayla and I won’t have to do all the scut-work on our own, then.”

The Yinchorri gave Quinlan a suspicious look.  “As long as you will not then leave _us_ to do all the work in your place,” he said, and then turned to face the others.

“Lieutenant,” Venge said.  Quinlan was surprised to note that he looked normal, his eyes blue, his expression neutral.  “Is everything ready?”

“ _Jeedai_ Kenobi,” Jonsshek greeted him in turn.  “It is.  Commander Pilar has arranged for your transport.”

 _Transport?_ Quinlan wondered, taking note of the Padawans’ lack of surprise. 

“Thank you,” Venge said.  “Could I have a word with Knight Vos in private?”

“Certainly.  I will see you both again when the _Noble Venture_ arrives,” Jonsshek confirmed, and went to rejoin his team.

“So, Force Illusion?” Quinlan asked, the moment the Yinchorri officer was out of earshot.

Venge nodded.  “If I can create a flawless illusion of Darth Maul, it would be pathetic if I could not manage my own eyes.”

Quinlan frowned.  “Was Sidious fooled, though?  He didn’t seem all that surprised on Naboo.” 

“I think he was prepared for the possibility that his true nature would be revealed,” Venge said.  “He just did not know what form it would take.  The illusion was successful; the rest of the venture was foolish.”

“You just didn’t have all of the information,” Anakin interjected, defending his Master’s decision. 

“That, too,” Venge admitted.  “Vos, you will be coming with me.  Aayla may return to Coruscant with Master Jinn and the Padawans, or you can make other arrangements, if you wish.”

“Er, why is that, then?” Quinlan asked, thrown by the sudden announcement.

“You are on the Master of Shadows’ short-list of candidates for special tutelage in Sith-hunting tactics.  That training will begin in a few days.”

 _Ah,_ Quinlan thought, hiding a wince.  “Are you sure you still want me there, what with the attempted stabbing and all?”

Anakin snorted a laugh.  “Quinlan, I tried to kill him a lot harder than you did.”

He opened his mouth; closed it, looked at Anakin, and then at Venge.  “Shit.  Right.  I’d forgotten about that.”

“You will have equal opportunity to fuck up, the same as everyone else who was chosen,” Venge told him.  “Try not to.”

Quinlan had a feeling that was about as rousing an endorsement as he was going to get.  “Right, then.  I need to make a call.”

Master T’ra Saa sounded amused, when Quinlan explained what he needed.  “Tholme and I have already discussed the fact that you would soon need a Padawan-sitter.”

“Does everyone know about this?” Quinlan asked, irritated. 

“Your former Master is Second to the Master of Shadows.  It is a fact that he would know, and should also be obvious that Tholme would have informed me.”

“You both talk too much,” Quinlan teased.  He supposed well-informed gossip among his elders was the price to pay for following in his Master’s footsteps.   “Would you mind working with my Padawan on hibernation techniques while I’m off doing crazy shit?”

“I don’t mind,” she said.  “Is there any particular reason for this request?  This lesson may be difficult; she is still young.”

 _As are you,_ Quinlan could all but hear.  T’ra Saa was six hundred years old, give or take a few decades.  Everyone was young to her except for Yoda.  “After what happened to Qui-Gon, I’m feeling pretty paranoid.  I’d rest easier knowing Aayla could save herself if some nutbag came along and blew all the hulls on her transport.”

“Master Jinn survived this?”  She sounded impressed, and Tholme’s unflappable Neti spouse rarely sounded anything other than stoically amused.  Mace Windu had learned to be completely fucking inscrutable from her, and even Tholme was picking up on the impassive bit.

“Looked a little rough, but yeah,” Quinlan replied.  “Maybe I should just have him teach her.”

“Perhaps you should,” she murmured thoughtfully.  “There are different levels to hibernation.  I am not certain that I could teach your Padawan to do what Master Jinn managed.  Whenever I am spaced, my body hibernates automatically as part of my biology.”

“It says a lot about our lives that you say ‘when’ and I don’t even blink at the thought that it’s already happened to you,” Quinlan said. 

T’ra Saa laughed, rich and warm.  “You are rough-and-tumble, like your Master.  You’ll have your turn soon enough.”

Quinlan made a face.  “No thanks.  I’m really okay with not getting a turn at that.”

“Send Aayla home to me,” she said, changing the subject.  “I will teach her what I can, and perhaps Master Jinn would be willing to tutor her in his own techniques.”

“Thanks.  Tell Tholme that I said…”  Quinlan hesitated.  “That I’ll try my best not to fuck up.”

 _“Do, or do not,”_ T’ra Saa quoted.  “And if you do, make it spectacular.”

Quinlan laughed and cut the signal.  _And that, friends and fellow Jedi, is why T’ra Saa and Tholme make one hell of a couple._

Quinlan found Aayla chatting with one of the Yinchorri technicians, and waved her over for a quiet conversation.  Aayla’s eyes narrowed when she heard the news, but she sighed and nodded.  “You did warn me that you would have to dart off unexpectedly, whenever this special training of yours began.  Do you know for how long, Master?”

He shook his head.  “Not yet, Padawan.  I suspect at least a month, maybe two.  I actually wish you were going with me, even if you couldn’t participate.”

Aayla looked pleased.  “Why is that, Master?”

“Dearheart, I have a feeling I am going to feel like hammered shit every single night.  Having a Padawan around to pamper my aching, tired ass would be most welcome.”

She giggled.  “That would just make you lazy.  Who’s taking charge of me while you’re gone?”

“Master T’ra Saa has graciously deigned to suffer through your freeloading,” Quinlan said.  “I suspect you’ll see Master Tholme often, also.”

Aayla grinned wide.  “My grand-Masters!” she said, clasping her hands together.  “I shall be spoiled rotten, useless for anything but sexual posturing by the time you return.”

“You’re just fifteen Standard.  You’re not allowed to be sexing _anything_ until you’re at least twenty-five,” Quinlan warned with a mock-growl.

“Yes, my protective and tailless older sibling,” Aayla agreed, rolling her eyes.  Then she sobered.  “You’ll be careful, Master?”

“I vow to come back with all of my parts attached,” Quinlan promised.  He looked at her, considering how much his Padawan had grown and changed in the past year.  She was so much farther along the path to Knighthood than he’d once estimated she’d be at this age.  Quinlan didn’t want to miss any of that time, because he feared it was going to be shorter than even Aayla realized.

Aayla blushed violet under his intense regard.  “What is it, Master?”

“I was just thinking about how very damn proud of you I am,” Quinlan said, and smiled when she darted into the circle of his arms for a hug.

 

*          *          *          *

 

Qui-Gon roused late in the morning, and for a moment thought quite seriously about not moving at all.  He _ached_ , all over, as his body finally recognized that it had a chance to recuperate and was trying to take full advantage. 

He heard bare feet on stone and turned his head to find Rillian approaching.  [Good morning, Master,] she said, and then noticed the expression on his face.  [You’re in pain.]

“The much-delayed pain of a necessary recovery,” Qui-Gon countered.  “Old wounds, not fresh.”

[Right,] she said, looking doubtful.  [There are painkillers in the med-kit.  Should I get one?]

Qui-Gon debated with himself and then finally decided that it was probably a good idea.  “Yes.  Please.”

Rillian grabbed the kit and rummaged, holding up a single-use hypospray.  [This one is correct, yes?]

He nodded and forced himself into a sitting position, biting back a groan.  Rillian came close and then hesitated.  “You go ahead.  Consider it practice.”

Rillian smiled and pressed the hypospray against the sensitive skin of Qui-Gon’s inner wrist, triggering the injection.  He hissed a curse as the cold sting of it hit his system, but within moments, the pain was less.  [Better?]

“Yes,” Qui-Gon said, and gave her a rueful smile.  “Some days I think I’m getting old, Padawan.”

Rillian chuffed a laugh.  [You are not.  You’re just whingy, Master.]

“Sometimes,” he said.  Rillian was being a well-behaved, solicitous Padawan, and yet he still felt a twinge of suspicion.  “Where is your other Master?”

Anakin might have been able to hide his reaction to that question, but Rillian was still young enough that the guilt was visible in her eyes.  [Er…]

Qui-Gon sighed.  It was like a kick to the gut, but not much of a shock.  “He’s gone, isn’t he.”

Rillian ducked her head.  [Master Obi-Wan and Quinlan Vos left about thirty minutes ago.  You…do not sound surprised?]

“I had the feeling that he was plotting something,” Qui-Gon said, and got to his feet.  He felt intense disappointment, and was struggling not to project it along any of his mental bonds.  “Please tell me that they are not doing something foolish.”

Rillian shook her head.  [I think that depends on your definition of foolish, Master,] she said, and pulled a folded piece of ’plast from a bandolier pocket.  [He said this was for you.]

Qui-Gon unfolded the sheet and took a long, steadying breath.  His mate was not stupid, or suicidal.  He had to trust that there was a good reason for this sudden parting.

 

_“This is where I leave you, for now, though not for any ominous reason.  Stop glaring at the plast like that.  It will not help.”_

 

Qui-Gon swore under his breath and then schooled his features back into something approximating neutrality.  His mate knew him too well.

 

_“After you left for Tholatin, Boda MonMassa approached me and asked if I would teach a select number of her Shadows how to properly deal with the Sith.  I agreed, albeit reluctantly.  At the time, I thought it was something that would happen a month or so after your return from Tholatin._

_Circumstances have quite obviously changed._

_This is the perfect opportunity to give these proto-Sith-hunters a true lesson in what they may face.  I am dragging Vos along with me to some Middle Rim bit of nowhere, where the Master of Shadows has retained a private facility.  We will soon be joined by upwards of thirty Shadows.  In their number, we believe, will be a core group of Jedi who will be capable of dealing with Sidious—or with me—without fracturing, or succumbing to Darkness._

_I am going to teach them what these Shadows need to survive, to succeed.  To do that, I need to show them the full truth of what they will face.  _

_I cannot do what needs to be done if you are with me.  I refuse to cause you that kind of pain, to see my rage beat against your shields until there is nothing left.  If I had stayed for this farewell, you would have asked otherwise, and I would not have been able to say no.  My own psyche is a speeder wreck; let us not add to the damage that either of us has suffered._

_Be a Master to our students, and teach them well.  There will come a time when the four of us will be together again._

_I honestly have no idea how to close this letter, so I will just tell you that I am yours, and always will be.”_

 

There was a post-script, as well.  It sounded very like Venge, though Qui-Gon did not understand the context.  _“Keep it for me.  If the worst happens, then at least I know that if I can’t have it, neither can anyone else.”_

 

[Are you angry with him?] Rillian asked, giving Qui-Gon a nervous look.

He slowly shook his head, refolding the letter.  “I am not pleased,” he admitted.  “But I understand his reasoning.  He told you what they were going to be doing?”

Rillian nodded.  [Yes, Master.  I mean, we didn’t know Vos was a Shadow, but the rest of it…I get what Master Obi-Wan wants to do.  Oh, and Aayla is coming home with us, when we’re done cleaning up here.  Quinlan says that Master T’ra Saa will be waiting for her.]

“All right.  Who’s in charge among the Judicial influx?”

Rillian straightened, sensing the shift towards responsibility and duty. [Commander Pilar.  I like her.]

Qui-Gon had a vague recollection of the name, though with a lesser title.  “Go and tell her that I’ll be out to greet her shortly, so we can finish RF-228’s investigation.”

[Yes, Master.]  Rillian paused, half-turned to do as asked.  [Are you all right?]

“I’ll be fine,” Qui-Gon said, smiling in reassurance.  Rillian nodded, leaving to go do as asked.  He sat back down on the bunk, taking a moment to collect his thoughts.  Then he stood and tucked the folded letter into his tunics, where it rested against his breast.

“You forgot last night’s arrangement.  I would have listened, and you should have told me,” Qui-Gon said, a mental check telling him that the Lifebond was still shielded against him.  “I really hope you know what you’re doing.”

He turned to find Anakin waiting for him, standing just inside the doorway.  “Master Qui-Gon,” he said.

“Anakin.”  Qui-Gon gazed at him, seeing the set of the boy’s jaw and the steel in his eyes.  “He discussed this with you, as well?”

Anakin nodded.  “Among other things, yeah.  Also, he wanted me to make sure that you got these,” he said, and held out a pair of lightsabers, one in each hand.

Qui-Gon took his own, first, grateful to see it intact.  Zan Arbor had completely deconstructed his lightsaber the first time they had met. 

When Qui-Gon accepted the hilt of Obi-Wan’s lightsaber, the Adegan crystals within chimed in recognition of his touch.  Obi-Wan’s essence was still an almost tangible presence, so much had he and those ancient crystals adapted to each other.

“What did he say?”

Anakin smiled.  “He said he was taking Kimal’s blade as a reminder of who his allies are.  His lightsaber is a promise to us that he’s coming back.  Oh, and you might wanna…”  Anakin gestured at his chest.  “You might wanna take a look at your ring.”

Qui-Gon, curious, attached the second lightsaber to his belt and then slipped his fingers under the edged of his tunic, snagging the leather cord.  He lifted it out, surprised by the jangle of two metal objects striking together.

Obi-Wan’s wedding ring was attached to Qui-Gon’s, like links on a chain.  He stared at them, amazed.  The material had been designed to be nigh-indestructible, and yet Venge had managed to sever one band, attach it to the other, and then re-seal the break.

“That is _so_ not subtle,” Anakin said.

“No, it is not,” Qui-Gon agreed.  Without Obi-Wan’s particular talent at molecular manipulation, the rings would remain linked unless they were completely reforged.

He hid the joined rings back under his clothing.  Shielded or not, he sent a message down the Lifebond’s pathway: 

_You damned stubborn imp.  I love you._

 

*          *          *          *

 

The dim halls always reminded him of torches burning low.  Never enough light, and what existed guttered and twisted like a living thing.  It was meant to confuse, to distort, to unsettle.

He liked torchlight, though.  It reminded him of…

He cut that line of thought quickly.  His Master needed no further weapons to use against him.

The audience chamber was also ill-lit, but a brighter light shone down on the dais in the center of the room, where an elongated chair rested.  It was a setup that should have seemed ridiculous, but Darth Sidious made the chair into a throne, the dais into stark, regally dark presentation, just by sitting in place. 

Sidious himself, cloaked in black, was not sitting, but standing, showing his back as he contemplated some unknown stir in the Force.  That posture always bespoke of dangerous unpredictability.

He knelt at the base of the dais, and waited.

“You are late in responding to my summons,” Sidious said at last.

He lowered his head, his eyes focused on the floor, shiny and black.  That stirred memories, too, but those were of anger and mocking laughter, things Sidious approved of.  “You have my apologies, Master.  I was delayed by a number of your Hands, who thought to test my skill, and my willingness to fight my way to your side.”

He heard the sound of turning boots on tile, the swish of fabric, but he did not look up.  It was not yet right to do so.  “How did you fare against them, my apprentice?”

He smiled.  “You need two more Hands, my Master.”

“They were valuable to me.  You should have left them alive.”

Now was the time.

Darth Talon lifted his head, staring into his Master’s hooded face.  Sidious’s eyes glowed, casting light on the ridges of cheek and nose, turning his face into a grim mask. 

“I thought the surviving Hands needed a lesson, an example to remember.”

“Will they remember it?” Sidious asked, his expression unreadable.

Talon inclined his head.  “They should, my Master.  It was a messy demonstration.”

“Very well.  I have a task for you.”  Sidious sat down in the chair, his hands lightly resting over the curve of the armrests.  His fingernails were a bloodless white; his skin was mottled with bruising.  Talon suspected that his Master’s health was failing—not that it mattered.  Sidious treated physical flesh like it was disposable, and would be hale again soon enough.

“What do you wish of me, my Master?” Talon asked, refusing to allow his elation to show.  Finally, his dedication was paying off. 

“My dear General is on the move.  Find him for me, lovely Talon.”

Talon’s shoulders jerked; he cursed himself for the slip.  “To kill him, my Master?”

The flash of Sidious’s temper ate burns into Talon’s back.  He gritted his teeth and made no sound.

“You will not kill him.  You will not even approach him.  Your instructions are to locate him, and then to observe.  Report his actions back to me.  Do this, and do it exactly as I say, and perhaps you will be rewarded.”

Talon allowed eagerness to shine in his eyes.  “ _Then_ do I get to kill him, Master?”

Sidious chuckled, low and indulgent.  “Such bloodthirsty thoughts, my apprentice.  Why do you wish him dead?”

“He is…competition,” Talon said.

Sidious narrowed his eyes.  “That is not the entire truth.”

Talon forced the tension from his shoulders.  “You grant him kindness and patience, and still he spurns you, Master.  He is not a worthy apprentice to the Sith.”

Sidious smiled, a sight that never failed to send tiny frissons of fear down Talon’s limbs.  “Venge is capable of more than you might believe.”  The smile vanished.  “Go.  Disobey my orders, and you will find that the consequences…”  He waved his hand in dismissal.

Talon stood and walked out, chilled.  The less specific Sidious was about torture, the more inventive he could be.  Talon would do as instructed.

If he used the time to make his own plans…well.  Talon knew that his teacher would approve.

**Author's Note:**

> Migraines are stupid, and migraine medication is stupid. At least this one is.


End file.
